Page 17 of Razor

Sultan sighs.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

My heart freezes and the world stops spinning.

“The cars were stolen, and the plates found in a dumpster nearby. I have reports they were seen heading out of town toward Harpersville. After a few calls, I was told they checked into a hotel in town.”

“How many?”

“Six in total. Five men, one woman.”

“And?”

“Checked out this morning.”

“Do you know where?”

“Apparently, one of the maids heard them talking about the private airfield. I called our contact, and he told us a private jet took off for Los Angeles two hours ago. They were all on board.”

“Do you have the aircraft number?”

I am trying to maintain a cool head, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult not to smash something, and he nods, handing me a piece of paper; the information written in bold black ink.

“I’m sorry, man. It appears they got away.”

I fix him with a hard expression, and he sighs. “At least they think they did. God help whoever took her, that’s all I’m saying.”

God help them indeed, because as I forward the information to Lucy, I’m aware that by the time I head back home, I will be taking off again real soon, and this time, I won’t be going alone.

* * *

Within the hour,I’m ready. A stop at the grocery store gives me enough supplies to fuel the long drive home. I have water, food, and only my thoughts for company as I steer toward the highway.

One or two fuel stops should be enough, and I should reach the Rubicon in the early hours of the morning. I’m praying they’re ready for me, because I doubt I’ll be there long.

As the miles disappear beneath my wheels, my thoughts turn to Sunday and the first time I saw her all those months ago. I relive every soft smile, every hesitant touch, and every single moment we shared, each one strengthening my resolve to make this right.

CHAPTER 8

SUNDAY

It turns out that private jets aren’t that comfortable.

Santiago tied me to the chair in some kind of restraint that cut into my ribcage. At least he allowed me to take a pee first, despite keeping the door open and watching me the entire time. It appears I have no privacy where he is concerned, and it’s degrading as hell.

I was given a bottle of water and a blindfold once again, and the only saving grace of that is I can’t see his ugly face.

Throughout the flight, he slid his hands all over me. Kissing me, slapping me, groping me, and threatening me, but not forcing himself on me. That’s one thing at least.

I got no sleep or food, merely water and his attention.

When we land, I am so hungry I may pass out and welcome it.

Once again, we are met by a car and as we travel to his home, he whispers in my ear, “It’s been fun, honey, but I have business to attend to. Until then, you must sleep. Sweet dreams, and we will continue this when you wake.”

A needle jabs into my arm, and I welcome the fall into oblivion.

Thank fuck for that.